


Older Than Any Spoken Vow

by Snickfic



Series: The Princess's Virgin Consort [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: F/M, Watersports, Wedding Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/pseuds/Snickfic
Summary: “You know,” Shuri said the next morning at breakfast, “there is another traditional wedding ritual we have not completed.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Shuri
Series: The Princess's Virgin Consort [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919773
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31
Collections: We Die Like Fen 4: We Lived to Die Afen, We die afen and afen





	Older Than Any Spoken Vow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



“You know,” Shuri said the next morning at breakfast, “there is another traditional wedding ritual we have not completed.”

She had a twinkle in her eye that Bucky recognized now. He’d have said he couldn’t trust it, except he obviously did. He didn’t know how much more trust he could have, than to marry someone and let them dig around in his arm socket, too. He shook his head, speared a chunk of papaya with his fork, and said, “Oh yeah?”

“It’s a strange one. _Very_ traditional, out of fashion now. It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she said, earnestly enough to pique Bucky’s interest.

“So what is it?” he asked, giving her the grin that won over a lot of ladies in the nineteen forties. By the twitch of Shuri’s mouth, he wasn’t doing so bad in the twenty tens, either. “Spit it out, Princess. Shuri,” he added, because they were on a first name basis. Husband and wife for a whole fourteen hours now. Would you look at that. 

Shuri hesitated long enough that Bucky was starting to get suspicious, but finally she opened her mouth, and she told him.

“Huh,” he said. He rolled it over in his mind for a moment, considered logistics, considered the haughty look on Shuri’s face that she only got on those very rare occasions when she embarrassed. He stuck the papaya chunk in his mouth. When he’d swallowed, he said, “Sure, why not?”

\--

Bucky supposed ordinary people would have done this in the shower, but then ordinary people didn’t live next to palace gardens with pools hidden away in leafy alcoves, well shielded from prying eyes and the heat of the sun. It was in one of those quiet, green-lit corners that he and Shuri got out of their clothes. He kept catching her sneaking glimpses of him, like she was expecting him to punk out.

“Tell me again what it’s for?” he said, because she was looking a little nervous.

She rolled her eyes, and he kind of thought she guessed what he was doing, but she said, “It’s an extension of the other fluid rituals—the goat’s milk bath, the ceremonial glasses of water at the feast. The bodily fluids we shared last night, of course.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, all imp, a trouble maker to the core. How did he rate someone like her? It was a mystery of the universe he wasn’t ever getting over. 

“And now we share these fluids.” She stepped in close and stroked his lower belly, near his bladder.

“Better not,” he said, flushing. He didn’t want to try to piss through a hard-on—although from the way Shuri was smirking, maybe a hard-on _afterwards_ would be just fine. “Uh, which of us first? Are there words? What do we do?”

“You first, I think,” Shuri said. She knelt gracefully in the dirt. “No words are needed. This is an ancient tradition, older than any spoken vows we have. You will claim me, and then I will claim you.” She looked up with a smile that was bright and genuine, all for him. Then, ever practical, she added, “Try not to get my hair.”

Bucky hadn’t ever pissed on a girl before. He hadn’t been sure if he’d be able to when he hydrated a couple of hours ago, when he walked out here and unwrapped himself from his robe. But Shuri looked up, patient, knowing, and it was easy to take himself in hand and aim low, towards her chest. He took a deep breath, then another. He thought wet thoughts.

It was a trickle at first, splashing across her thighs. Then all those internal muscles remembered how this worked, and he was pissing on her, a full, urgent stream. It streamed all over her tits and down to her belly, and it pooled in her cupped hands when she held them out.

He finished and shook himself dry, out of habit. Shuri smiled beatifically up at him. He was close enough to smell how she stank of him now: claimed, like she said. His, for as long as this marriage lasted. The knowledge of it thudded in his chest like a solid hit to the sternum.

“You now,” Shuri said, getting to her feet. Piss dripped off her, into the dust. “I think I would like you to lie down.”

Bucky knelt on the ground and leaned back on his hands. “There really isn’t any ceremony to this at all, is there?”

As solemn as he’d ever seen her, Shuri said, “Like our marriage, this tradition is what we make of it. No one can tell us how to do it. No one knows how it works inside except us.” She shoved lightly at his shoulder. “Go on, now.”

Bucky lay back, pillowing his head on his arm. Shuri straddled him, a foot on either side of his ribs, and settled on his chest—carefully, as if there was any chance of someone her size hurting him by accident. But that’s how she was: careful with things. Careful with him.

As if reading his mind, she planted a hand by his head, leaned in, and caught his mouth with hers. It was a firm kiss, a kiss full of purpose. Then she pulled away, but still she hovered above him, her eyes intent on his. It was then that Bucky felt the first hot trickle on his chest. Shuri took a breath and eased it out again, and her piss streamed across his skin and over his ribs.

It _was_ like the goat’s milk bath, he thought distantly. They were bathing in each other. They’d come out new, belonging to one another—or maybe he was thinking of baptism, and this was something else entirely. Something new.

Whatever it was, it was wet on his skin, pooling in his crevices, and when the rush of it seemed to slow, Shuri bent and kissed him again. “Mine,” she whispered. “You are mine now, Bucky Barnes.”

“Yeah.” He kissed her again, and as the smell of them together rose up all around him, he believed her.


End file.
